


Securi dormite

by Sorry_im_trash



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: ...Kinda, Concussions, Episode: s07e15 Dear Sis, Gen, Sickfic, if Dear Sis had happened in season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorry_im_trash/pseuds/Sorry_im_trash
Summary: Father Mulcahy passes out during his Sunday services. That's it, this is just friendship and fluff and Mulcahy being taken care of. Set loosely during the episode Dear Sis, but if Dear Sis was set in season 8, because I forgot mid-writing that it wasn't. But it's okay cause it doesn't really reference it a lot
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger & Father Francis Mulcahy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Securi dormite

**Author's Note:**

> This is not very poetic, and like the summary says, the timeline makes no sense. But I'm trying to write a post-canon fic, and this wouldn't let go of me until I put it down in text. I hope you enjoy self-indulgent fluff! Also I'm Lutheran so I've never been to a Catholic Mass, so I'm sorry!

Klinger had taken to attending Father Mulcahy's Sunday sermons as often as he could almost since the beginning of his imprisonment at the 4077th. Partly it had at first been to get to use his literal Sunday bests, but it had grown into a habit he found himself genuinely enjoying. He found Mulcahy's speeches comforting at best and enjoyable white noise at worst, and the way he wasn't expected to do anything but listen gave him a moment to just sit and breathe. And since there usually weren't more than two or three people attending with him, often he was alone in fact, he felt like it was only fair to make sure that the Father didn't have to preach to the empty chars. Of course he couldn't make it every Sunday, but it was the thought that counted. 

This particular Sunday had been preceded by grueling Friday and Saturday, and if it had been up to him, he moat likely would have slept in. The fighting had been fierce, as it always was during December. And where there was fighting, there were wounded. Klinger wasn't sure if he'd had more than four uninterrupted hours of sleep since Thursday, but he had promised to one kid from post-op that he'd help him to the Mass. Getting to see the service tended to be important to people who had survived horrors, so who was Klinger to deny the kid? So, instead of finally getting his full six hours, Klinger was sitting bundled into his fur coat, watching Mulcahy speak to him and private Andrews. 

To be honest, Klinger wasn't even trying to pay attention to the Father's exact words. He was just doing his best not to fall asleep right there, as with only the three of them in the tent it would be impossible to hide. He wasn't really even thinking about anything, except how nice it would be to be laying in his cot under a few blankets, with the fire warming up the clerk's office. If there had been one good thing to come out from having to step into Radar's boots, it had been that the office was a bit better at keeping in heat that the tents were. The Mess tent was the worst of them all, Klinger could see Mulcahy's breath coming out in white puffs. 

Now that he was looking at the priest, he couldn't help but notice how tired he looked, brows furrowed like he was concentrating really hard on speaking, even though Klinger was almost certain he had heard this same story about Jesus and the children at least twice before. He was also holding onto his podium with two hands. Was he swaying? 

"- and now, let us…" Mulcahy was saying, but seemed to lose his train of thought mid-sentence, "let us… Ah, now, we, we will…" Mulcahy took half a step back from the podium and promptly fell on the mess tent floor.

Klinger shot up from his seat and dashed to him.

"Father? Hey, Father?" he tried. Private Andrews, whose arm was in a cast had stood up as well. 

"What happened, is he alright?" Andrews asked, sounding like he was about to start crying. Before Klinger could answer, Father Mulcahy stirred and opened his eyes. 

"Oh, Father," Klinger said, trying to keep his voice gentle, but feeling incredibly relieved, "are you alright?" 

Mulcahy let Klinger help him sit up, and touched carefully the side of his head, a bit above the left eye, where he had collided with the ground. "I… I think so," Mulcahy answered, looking a bit dazed behind his crooked glasses. "I'm not sure what happened." 

"You just fell," Klinger answered. "Mid-sentence, too. How do you feel?" 

"I feel -" Mulcahy started, and then looked behind Klinger. "I feel just fine". 

Klinger turned his head and saw private Andrews hovering just behind him. He suppressed the urge to shake his head at the priest. "Alright, Father. Let's get you up and into pre-op". 

"No! I need to, I need to finish the sermon!" Mulcahy grabbed Klinger's shoulder and the podium and started pushing himself up. 

"No way, Father," Klinger replied, helping him stand up. "I don't think private Andrews minds this shortened version." 

"No, I mean yeah, it's okay!" Andrews said from behind Klinger. 

"Ah, well…" Mulcahy didn't release his grip on Klinger's shoulder. "I am sorry, my son. I can speak with you a little later, if you wish." 

"Oh, if you'll feel up to it," Andrews was fidgeting a little with his cast, looking a little embarrassed by Mulcahy's attention. 

"Alright, alright, let's get you both moving," Klinger exclaimed in order to keep any awkwardness from forming. Mulcahy let himself be led from the mess tent, and only protested once when they passed his tent. Klinger sent Andrews into his bed in post-op by himself, and walked Mulcahy into the clerk's office. 

At his office, Klinger helped Mulcahy sit down on his bed. He seemed a little wobbly on his feet, like he wasn't quite sure how to properly bend his knees. Sitting down he took off his glasses and pressed on the bridge of his nose. Klinger squatted and showed two pieces of wood into the stove. There hadn't been a flame left, but the coals had enough yellow that the kindling awakened it again. It was quite a bit warmer than the mess tent, but not warm enough to take your coat off.

"Really, Klinger, I'm feeling a lot better now," Mulcahy said, slowly putting his glasses back on. "I should just get to my tent".

"No way, Father," Klinger protested. Mulcahy was looking even worse from up close, pale and tired. "I'm gonna go get captain Pierce to take a look at you." 

"Don't! He deserves that sleep! He was in OR all night!" 

"So were you! And you fell pretty heavy! I mean, it looked like you banged your head!" 

Mulcahy gingerly touched his forehead, where a red mark had formed. "I guess I did," he relented. 

"Don't go anywhere," Klinger said, standing up. Mulcahy raised his eyebrows and Klinger shrugged back. He pushed open the doors to his office and jogged up to the swamp. 

The swamp was almost completely quiet, if you didn't count the snoring coming from the three surgeons. Klinger felt a little bit sorry, as he gently shook the tight bundle of blankets he knew to be Hawkeye. 

"Hey, doctor Pierce, wake up! You've got a patient!" He tried to keep his voice down and not wake up everybody. 

"Aurgh, Klinger, you're going to become a patient, if you don't let me sleep!" 

"Hawk, I told you to not let strange men in our room!" BJ cried from his bunk. So much for the silence. 

"I'm sorry sir, but it's Father Mulcahy". 

That got Hawkeye to sit up. "Alright, alright, let's go then." Hawkeye and BJ both started pulling on their shoes. BJ looked at Klinger. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Klinger said, trying to not sound too worried. He stepped out, the doctors following him. "He just passed out mid-prayer during the services. He's looking pretty rough, too. I think he hit his head on the way down". 

"Ouch," BJ commented. "Vomiting? Dizziness?" 

"He hasn't thrown up, but he did use me as a walking stick".

Klinger opened the door to the office. Mulcahy was sitting exactly where he had left him. He had taken off his glasses again, but put them back on when he heard them coming. 

"I'm sorry to wake you," he said to Hawkeye, as the doctor kneeled in front of him.

"Don't worry about it, I must have gotten almost five hours," Hawkeye replied. "Klinger said you passed out. You hit your head too?" 

"Oh, yes. It seems so," Mulcahy said, bringing his hand again up to his temple. 

"You're looking pretty tired, Father," BJ commented from where he was standing next to Klinger. "Giving sleep up for lent?" 

"Oh, I don't real- ouch!" Mulcahy flinched as Hawkeye prodded the red mark on Mulcahy's forehead. 

"Sorry," Hawkeye said, although to Klinger he didn't sound very apologetic. "It hurts that much?" 

"Not really, you just surprised me," Mulcahy answered. 

"Any other issues? Dizziness? Headache? Nausea?" Hawkeye listed. Mulcahy shook his head, then cringed. 

"Well, some headache. And I did feel a bit… off my feet. So to speak". 

Hawkeye took a gentle hold on Mulcahy's chin, and fished out a small flashlight from the pocket of his coat.

"When's the last time you got some sleep?" BJ inquired, as Hawkeye shone the light into Mulcahy's eyes. Mulcahy shrugged. 

"Well, between the O.R. and the, uh, getting ready for Christmas…" at least he sounded a bit sheepish. 

"Father!" Hawkeye exclaimed, then cringed when Mulcahy flinched from the sound. "Even the Lord took a day off!" 

"There's just so much to do," Mulcahy tried. He looked to Klinger as if to ask for support, but this once Klinger didn't feel guilty raising his eyebrows at the priest. 

"You don't have to do it alone, y'know," he said instead. "You can't be everywhere at once. That's not your job". 

Mulcahy smiled at him, catching Klinger's promise. 

"Alright," Hawkeye said, straightening his back. "You might have a slight concussion, but mostly you're suffering from fatigue. Extremely serious, the only cure is bedrest, as much as you can get". Despite his words, he didn't sound that serious, or even accusing. Maybe a little worried, but that Klinger could relate to. 

"And you should listen to him, Father," BJ said, "or we'll tell on you." 

"Oh? To whom?" Mulcahy asked, grinning just slightly. 

“Potter,” Klinger, BJ and Hawkeye said in unison. Mulcahy let out a tired chuckle and looked at the three of them from over the rim of his glasses. 

“Alright, maybe.. maybe you’re right. I’ll go get some sleep,” he said, carefully pushing himself off of Klinger’s cot. Hawkeye took a hold of his elbow when he swayed a little. Mulcahy waved him off, but Hawkeye hovered next to him, ready to catch him.

“Will you walk him to bed, Klinger?” Hawkeye said. Mulcahy made a noise to protest, but the surgeon talked over him. “Make sure he listened to his doctors. You can read him a bedtime story if he wishes, though”.

“Yes, sir,” Klinger saluted Hawkeye. He saw Mulcahy rolling his eyes, which did feel like a good sign. BJ tried to hide a yawn, which the three of them caught. 

“Let’s go Klinger,” Mulcahy said, and the two of them walked out of the office.

“I meant what I said, though,” Klinger said as they walked towards the priest’s tent. “If you need help planning out Christmas, you just gotta ask”.

“I know,” Mulcahy answered, his voice now lowered. “I just… I just like doing it myself. It’s not like there’s much more for me to do- oh!” he stopped walking. “I promised to go see private Andrews!”

“Na-ah,” Klinger took a hold of Mulcahy’s arm. “He’s not leaving until this evening. You’ll get your chance”.

Mulcahy sighed. “You’re right, of course”.

“As always”.

“I don’t know if I’d say that”.

“Hey!”

They got to Mulcahy’s door, who turned to look at Klinger.

“I think I’ll get it from here. But uh… thank you”.

Klinger shrugged. “I’m sorry you haven’t gotten enough sleep”.

“It’s not your fault. Maybe I am pushing it a little bit,” Mulcahy smiled, and Klinger felt like that had been an apology for something.

“Good night, Father,” he said, “or sweet dreams, I guess”.

Mulcahy chuckled, and disappeared into his tent. Klinger shook his head as he headed back to the office. He had been meaning to take a nap after the sermon, but at this point he might as well start on the paperwork for the day. As he passed the swamp, BJ and Hawkeye were emerging, now with their bathrobes on.

“You tucked him in?” BJ greeted him.

“Is he okay?” Klinger asked Hawkeye, who shrugged.

“Physically, yes. Someone should check up on him in a few hours, to make sure he’s responsive. But I think he’s fine. He just-”

“- pushes himself. Yeah”. Klinger finished for him. Hawkeye nodded.

“I don’t think he gets how hard he works. Remember BJ, maybe a week back, Potter commented on how energetic he was after 14 hours of surgery, and he said he hadn’t been working?”

“Yeah,” BJ said slowly. “I think he said he hadn’t done anything of consequence.”

“But he works just as hard as the rest of us!” Klinger protested. 

“Yeah, I bet he’s the Korea’s greatest X-Ray machine operating priest,” Hawkeye said.

“The holiest of nurses,” BJ added. 

“Hmm… I think,” Klinger started, “I think we should do something. During Christmas. Get him a present.”

“And what would that be, exactly?” BJ asked.

“Eh, I don’t know”.

“You know,” Hawkeye said, “that might not be such a bad idea”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As you can see, dialogue is not my strong suit. Maybe some day! Thank you Nowe for talking to me about sick Mulcahy, one day I'll write an actual sickfic about him


End file.
